


Never Knew Paradise

by foggynite



Category: The Brotherhood (Movies), The Brotherhood II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dark, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, spoilers for the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynite/pseuds/foggynite
Summary: Because Marcus needs this.
Relationships: Harlan Ratcliff/Marcus Ratner





	Never Knew Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> The earliest date I can find for this is 2005. I wrote a lot of fanfic on Livejournal back in the day...
> 
> Post movie with a lot of unhealthy coping and dark imagery; spoilers for the movie. Passages taken from John Milton’s Paradise Lost.

_Forfeit to Death– from hence a passage broad,  
Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to hell.  
(Lines 304-305, Book X)_

The images won’t stop worming their way into his thoughts. He’ll be sitting in class, tuning out his teacher, and suddenly he’ll think about Harlan’s fingers in his ass or fucking the blonde over the hood of his cherry red convertible, and then Marcus won’t be able to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day.

He’s started taking showers late at night, when there’s no one else awake to see him standing under the warm spray with one hand fondling his balls and the other clutching at the washcloth in his mouth. It’s a nightly routine now, something he can’t fall asleep without doing, and if his roommate thinks he’s weird, too fucking bad.

Because he needs this. He leans back against the wall, remembers what it felt like to be held down against his will, struggles with the memory of his fear and excitement. His breath comes harshly through his nose, turning the water running down his face into a fine mist.

He strokes his flaccid cock, thinks of Harlan pressing up against his back, remembers the feel of the other boy breathing on his neck. Heat radiating between them, and his dick is waking up, slowly filling with each tug. His stubby fingernails dig into the skin of his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and he bites down on the gag, grinds his teeth into the fabric. Imagines Harlan running a hand along his ass, spreading him open. Pretends the flow of water along his neck is Harlan’s tongue, licking a trail to his nipples.

For a moment he just stands tense, pressing his shoulders into the wall tiles and holding himself, reveling in the heavy weight of his cock and the texture of the springy hairs on his sac. Wishes the hand slowly rolling one ball between index and thumb was someone else’s, and pinches the skin hard enough to make his eyes water.

He starts jacking himself in earnest as he pictures Harlan’s arrogant smirk, his disdainful eyes. Imagines what that face would look like if Marcus was the one holding Harlan down, pushing on his wrists until they were red and purple under his fingers. If Marcus was the one forcing Harlan’s thighs apart with his leg, using one hand to lift the other boy’s leg by the knee, pushing it up against Harlan’s stomach so that he was spread wide. He pictures the way Harlan’s face would screw up with pain as Marcus slid into him dry, as he nudged his cock into Harlan’s tight hole so slowly. Waiting until Harlan started to relax and beg for it before he rammed into him completely, and now Marcus is roughly jerking himself off, squeezing until it feels like he’s stripping his dick raw.

Maybe Harlan would give a weak protest, just for appearance’s sake, maybe whimper or whine, and Marcus grunts deep in his throat, hips jerking forward. He’d hold Harlan down with one hand, just jack-hammering into him, making him writhe until Harlan turned red and he spurted come all over them. Marcus would wait until that moment to slide his knife along Harlan’s throat, still pumping into him as Harlan’s eyes widened with shock, just like Alex’s had, and the thought is too much–

Marcus convulses and comes all over his own hand, shower spray quickly washing away any evidence. He sags against the wall, grimacing as he removes the washcloth from his sore mouth, and feels his knees tremble.

Every night, and sometimes he thinks he has problems. But if no one else knows, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.

_...is there no place  
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?  
None left but by submission; and that word  
Disdain forbids me...  
(Lines 79-82, Book IV)_

It doesn’t seem real anymore. Like it was another person who did it; a movie he watched one night on TV, black and white and grainy. Not him pushing at Randall, taunting. Not him wielding a knife at Alex.

Part of him recognizes his actions are insane. He knows he shouldn’t have done any of it. Shouldn’t have given in. But it had been his choice to make.

He’s talked to Matt a few times since it happened. The other boy brought it up, hedging around the subject until Marcus told him to just spit whatever out. And Matt had sat there, talking about how Luc had them under a spell, controlled them with a touch so subtle, they hadn’t realized their actions were not their own. That Van Owen thinks Luc was some sort of demon, or maybe even the Devil himself. How no one would believe them if they tried to explain things, nervously reassuring Marcus that the cops would never find out.

And Marcus doesn’t point out that John hadn’t gone along with any of it, really. That the cross Matt wears under his shirt isn’t going to protect him from himself. That the cops would probably be really fucking happy to arrest them if they came forward to confess. Hell, it’d probably make the national news, just like when those freaky role-playing kids killed that girl’s parents.

Marcus knows it’s all bullshit that Matt tells himself so that he won’t feel guilty. Won’t feel responsible for being involved in the death of three people. Won’t have to admit that it was all his own decisions that brought him here.

He doesn’t tell Matt that if Luc were to come back, Marcus would do it all over again, because it was a wild fucking ride and for once in his life, he’d felt like he belonged to something. Was part of something huge, and the kids and teachers still keep them at a respectful distance. They could probably get away with more shit now than ever before, the way the new principle’s such a humanistic pussy, but Matt and Van Owen aren’t interested. John just wants to fuck Mary, and Matt just wants to get high. But Marcus isn’t going to let it all go to waste. They went through too much to pretend it never happened.

Marcus refuses to be that same pathetic tag-along, waiting to hear what plan John and Matt have concocted for the weekend. He isn’t that weak anymore, even if the others refuse to acknowledge it. Luc may have fucked them all up, but Marcus was paying attention. He’s beginning to figure out how to play the game.

Even if sometimes he wishes that he and Matt could just start saying shit that mattered again.

_Besides what hope the never-ending flight  
Of future days may bring; what chance, what change,  
Worth waiting, since our present lot appears  
For happy though but ill, but ill not worst,  
If we procure not to ourselves more woe.  
(Lines 221-25, Book II)_

It was surprisingly easy to get Harlan’s attention. Marcus is almost disappointed that the other boy presents barely any challenge. He just had to lean against the same tree he did that day they ended up in the locker showers, and eventually Harlan jogged by. The blonde had paused, eyeing Marcus coolly as Marcus sucked on a cigarette and stared unflinchingly back.

But Marcus can’t really be that disappointed at the simplicity, because he’s on his back, spread out over the still-warm hood of Harlan’s convertible while Harlan licks the inside of his mouth like he needs Marcus to breathe.

He doesn’t protest when Harlan reaches for the button of his slacks, just reaches around the other boy’s arms and returns the favor, all the while sucking at Harlan’s Adam’s Apple and trying not to thrust too hard against the blonde’s leg. They’re in Harlan’s garage, and Marcus doesn’t care if anyone finds them, really. He can’t care about anything when Harlan is tugging his pants and his underwear off his hips, and he only remembers to toe off his shoes when Harlan pauses in frustration.

This is better than his fantasies; Harlan’s fingers holding him down against the unforgiving hood until the nerves in his elbows tingle, and Harlan worrying at his nipples through his thin dress shirt, saliva leaving a wet patch that clings to him. He doesn’t ask when Harlan produces a small bottle from his pants pocket, merely tries to catch his breath and pull down Harlan’s boxers with shaking hands. Because he needs this, needs this so fucking bad and.

Harlan slides a finger into him, knuckles dragging audibly across the hood. Marcus arches back, but Harlan’s crooking his finger just right and Marcus’ head thumps hollowly on the car. It burns and he’s never done this before, but he’s panting too heavy to think straight and all he knows is that if Harlan doesn’t fuck him soon, he’ll die. The need is in his chest, his lungs. His quivering thighs, and sock-clad feet braced against the front tire. His hands are grasping Harlan’s shoulders tight, digging into his collarbone and sliding towards his neck. Once he reaches Harlan’s throat, though, the urge to squeeze is there in the tips of his fingers, and the blonde gives a little gasp, jerking back. He reaches up to pull Marcus’ hands away, finger leaving Marcus’ ass to do it.

He frowns at the loss, so frustrated, but Harlan just chuckles, and whispers, “Relax, Ratner. You’re too uptight, man.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.”

And Harlan’s finger is back in his ass before he can respond. The buttons of his shirt cuffs are scraping across the convertible’s paint job, and the lube is going to make a mess, but Harlan doesn’t seem to mind. Marcus scrabbles a little when a second finger joins the first, and when he goes to stifle his moan with his fist, Harlan forcibly pulls his hand away.

“I want to hear you.”

“Then fuck me already.” His voice catches at each thrust, and he’s sure his tail bone is bruised. The pain just makes him grind down onto Harlan’s hand harder.

“You want it, Ratner?” Harlan’s smirking down at him, shirt rumpled, skin flushed. Marcus manages to roll his eyes, but another twist and his mouth is hanging open on a wordless keen. Harlan chuckles, but finally– finally– slicks his cock, using both hands to spread Marcus’ cheeks apart so he can slowly enter him.

It stings all the way to his lower back and hurts so fucking bad he can’t breath for a moment, but then Harlan is pushing in farther and Marcus’ body opens around him. The discomfort is nothing to the feel of being filled, and when Harlan starts moving, Marcus just holds on to the car hood with sweaty hands and lets himself be taken. Each thrust makes the car’s shocks protest, and maybe the hood starts to dent, but Harlan hovers over him, planting his fists on either side of Marcus’ head. Sweat drips down onto Marcus’ shirt from the tip of Harlan’s nose, but Harlan’s staring into his eyes, daring him. Marcus doesn’t look away.

Too soon, Harlan’s face screws up in a grimace like pain, flushed red, and he lets out a groan that echoes through the garage. Marcus can feel him coming in his ass, a new burning, and the openness in Harlan’s expression takes his breath away. His own dick spurts across his stomach without being touched.

Harlan slumps over him, pinning him down, but Marcus doesn’t mind. The warmth makes him feel almost alive, and his hands finally come up to rest hesitantly on Harlan’s back.

_Be then his love accursed, since love or hate,_  
To me alike it deals eternal woe.  
(Lines 69-70, Book IV) 

He wakes up the day before graduation with Harlan’s dick pressing against his thigh and his own morning erection at an uncomfortable angle. Shifting, he pushes lightly at Harlan’s shoulder until the other boy rolls over onto his stomach. Half awake, the blonde doesn’t protest when Marcus stretches out over him, rubbing his dick in the sleep-sweat of Harlan’s crack.

Marcus slowly guides Harlan’s arms over his head, hips starting a gentle rocking motion. Harlan’s ass rises to meet each languorous grind, and the blonde murmurs a little, waking up more. Tongue swiping along the exposed neck, Marcus hides his grin in Harlan’s hair.

“Hey–“ A sleepy protest quickly silenced by Marcus’ mouth, a deep kiss to distract while Marcus fumbles for the lube on the nightstand. There are used tissues and stained sheets on the floor making the room smell kind of rancid, but the maid hasn’t complained yet any time Marcus stays over. She just crosses herself and backs away muttering.

He slicks his fingers up, dripping on the mattress, and reaches down to rub around Harlan’s hole, smiling when the other boy buries his face in the pillow and pants. He teases for a while, until Harlan uses his superior leg strength to push himself up on his knees so he can reach his dick. That’s when Marcus pushes two fingers in, feeling the slick from last night still there and his own ass clenches at the memories.

He tugs on Harlan’s wrist with his free hand, letting the blonde brace himself on his elbow before guiding Harlan’s fingers back to join his as they slide in and out. Harlan can’t reach as deep as he can, but they still manage to get their fingers tangled together and the sight makes Marcus’ dick twitch painfully. Harlan groans into the sheets, urging Marcus faster, so Marcus slows down to a torturous pace.

With a scornful snort, Harlan pulls his fingers out, raising his ass higher so he can reach back between Marcus’ legs to run wet fingers over the skin behind his scrotum. Marcus gasps, hips bucking forward, and Harlan can get farther, just a light pressure on the ring of muscle around Marcus’ hole.

All thoughts of teasing flee and Marcus quickly replaces his fingers with his cock in one smooth thrust. Harlan pushes back until Marcus is balls deep and they’re both panting. He can’t thrust hard enough and he wants to split Harlan open, crack his arrogant skull until blood and brains ooze out, so instead he just pumps into him faster. They’re grunting and urging each other on, Marcus gripping Harlan’s hips enough to bruise and Harlan digging his manicured nails into Marcus’ ass.

When Harlan comes, his entire body tenses around Marcus’ cock and they freeze. Then Marcus pushes him down into the mattress and thrusts a few more times, strong enough to make Harlan wince, before giving in to his own orgasm.

He slowly pulls out, ropy string of come still connecting them until Harlan rolls over with a smug grin. Marcus arches an eyebrow at him and lowers himself onto Harlan’s sweaty, heaving chest. He smiles at the sound of the pounding heart under his ear, and Harlan embraces him loosely.

Sure, he could kill Harlan. It would be almost too easy. But there are other ways to break a person that are more fun. Even if he’s bleeding himself dry, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://jrocci.tumblr.com/)


End file.
